


What's West of Westeros

by ashleyfanfic, FrostbitePanda



Category: Black Panther (2018), Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Game of Thrones Fusion, Assassination Attempt(s), Collaboration, Diplomacy, Everyone Lives And Nothing Hurts, F/M, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon and Dany are king and queen, Jonerys Week Summer 2018, Marvel Universe, SO MANY LIBERTIES WERE TAKEN, This is fanfic, Wakanda, Wakanda has been scaled down technologically speaking, Wakanda is a mysterious kingdom ala Atlantis in this universe, Westeros, fusion fic, in which Jon Snow is generally uncomfortable in jungles, much fun will be had by all, new settings, no quibbling please, post-Long Night, state visit, with only a bit of drama
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-21 02:14:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14906460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashleyfanfic/pseuds/ashleyfanfic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostbitePanda/pseuds/FrostbitePanda
Summary: Rhaella was practically vibrating with excitement next to him, twisting the end of her dark plait within both hands. “What do you think it will be like father?” she asked him breathlessly. “Do you think it will look like Old Valyria? With glowing stones and towers as tall as mountains?”Jon laughed, shaking his head. “I know as much as you do, love,” he said, wrapping his arm about her shoulders to keep her from flying right out of her skin. “I have no idea what to expect.”(In which our heroes journey to the legendary kingdom of Wakanda to strike an alliance with King T'Challa)





	1. The Arrival

**Author's Note:**

> The following is a silly idea that became a fairly massive undertaking for myself and my super talented collaborator, ashleyfanfic, and reserved for the 'state visit' prompt for Jonerys Week.
> 
> The nation of Wakanda lies west of Westeros, ala the burning question Arya poses in season six. This story takes place approximately 16 years into Jon and Dany's rule. They have labored for years to stop in-fighting and bring equality and prosperity to their rebuilt kingdom, but much still lies in waste and ruin after the Long Night and the Battle for Kings Landing. Desperate to set their still beleaguered realm to rights, they entreat the help of T'Challa and Nakia, who also desire something only they can provide-- dragon fire for their forges to work the Vibranium within their sacred mountain. Enjoy!
> 
> (Big Disclaimer: We had to fabricate many of the settings and trappings of Wakanda and its culture, both because of the sparse details that the Internet can provide about it, and because this is a much younger Wakanda, not as technologically advanced as the one depicted in the film. We tried to pull from the Marvel lore as much as we could, but much of it is pure fancy based on brief research of Africa and its many cultures and varying geography. For this reason, please try not to quibble, and take it with a grain of salt. We're tying our best here.)

 

 

“Arya, would you please stop that?”

 

“Stop what?” his sister asked, only half listening to him as she squinted against the tropical sun glinting off the crystalline sea.

 

Men were shouting and shuffling around them as they hoisted sails and tied off masts, preparing to anchor on the pinline, pearly coast floating on the horizon. Jon could see the dark specks of river barges and a mob of people against the green curtain of jungle that bowed over the beach.

 

“You’re drumming your hands on the rail. It’s driving me mad.”

 

“Everything has been driving you mad,” Arya pointed out dryly, still not looking at him.

 

“Almost a month aboard a ship with you is enough to drive anyone mad,” Jon replied, ambling up to the rail where his sister sat with one leg hoisted upon the wood.

 

She looked over at him, unamused. “It’s not my fault you hate sailing.” She leaned to the side, looking over his shoulder and perked up, grinning. “Daenerys, tell your husband to shut up and enjoy himself.”

 

“What is it now?” his wife asked with a little laugh as she drew level with them, fresh from her bath and dressing.

 

“He’s being quite sour for someone who is about to see a kingdom no one ever has before,” Arya replied as she looked back over the prow to the coast beyond.

 

“Except for you,” Jon pointed out proudly and Arya responded with a satisfied smirk.

 

Jon watched as Daenerys leaned her hip against the rail, giving him a knowing look. She was wearing a dress he’d never seen before— airy silk the color of blood that wrapped around her shoulders in a flowing drape, veined with gold as fine as flax. Her long hair had been bound up-- some wizardry of Missandei’s doing, and was wrapped in a scarf of the same hue. Around her neck and stretching over her shoulders lay the priceless gold collar Arya had brought back to King’s Landing from the king and queen of Wakanda. A gesture of good faith, of welcome. It, and the many other such treasures that had accompanied it (including, he suspected, the dress his wife now donned), were far more than he and Daenerys could have ever hoped for.

 

He was struck mute, mesmerized by this new vision of her.

 

Daenerys grinned at Arya, shaking her head. “He was never one for sea travel.”

 

“Aye, a Stark through and through in that, I’m afraid,” Arya replied.

 

There was a small pause, all eyes and minds set to the ever-lengthening foreign coast drawing nearer. Daenerys slipped a hand into his own, leaning her head closer to whisper. “Everything well, love?”

 

Jon looked to his boots, pulled from his spell and maybe a bit embarrassed. “Well, I suppose I’m... nervous,” he admitted as Arya chortled in the background. “And more than a bit sweaty. It’s bloody hot.”

 

“You should take this off,” Daenerys pointed out, tugging at the gambeson he wore under his hauberk. “It would help…” she leaned closer to him, candid, “and be extremely becoming.”

 

He grinned at her as Arya scoffed from beside them. “Can you two stop it already?”

 

Jon ignored her, looking back to Daenerys. “I think I would feel rather odd greeting a royal family bare armed.”

 

“You would feel odd doing _anything_ bare armed,” Arya pointed out. “Come to think of it… I don’t think I’ve _ever_ seen your arms.”

 

“They’re quite nice,” Daenerys said, squeezing his bicep. “He should show them off more often.”

 

Arya pulled a face, gagging a bit. “Forget that I said anything.”

 

Daenerys turned back to face him with a laugh. “But in all seriousness, my love, did Missandei not deliver the gown that T’Challa sent back with Arya for you?”

 

He shook his head, looking back to the horizon, his stomach falling a bit as he realized how much closer they had drawn in the short time he hadn’t been paying attention. “She did… but… seriously, Daenerys… that thing? It’s ridiculous. It looks like a dress.”

 

“It’s _handsome_ and just your color.”

 

He huffed. “Black?”

 

“Exactly,” she said with a fondness in her eyes that still made his stomach turnover, even after all these years. “And it is not a _thing_ , love, it’s called a _dashiki_.” She turned her head, lifting her chin and Jon followed her gaze. “See how handsome your son looks in it?”

 

Indeed, his son did look quite fetching as he strolled up to join them at the rail. He wore a robe very much like the one Jon had been gifted with, only his was a deep purple, detailed with black thread. His silver hair had been brushed and sat atop his head in a tight knot held with some sharp, needle-like implementation Jon had never seen before. “How long until we land?” Aemon asked impatiently, leaning over the rail. Their oldest son had been most eager to go with them, and now that their destination was within sight, Jon was unsure if the boy would simply jump into the sea and swim the rest of the way.

 

“We’re nearly there,” Jon answered with some exasperation. His son took to the sea about as well as he did, but was much more vociferous about it. “But it will be a long journey up the river. How long did it take, Arya?”

 

“About four hours.”

 

Aemon groaned, hanging his head. He was near a man grown, sixteen next year, but sometimes he acted much younger. “Why does it take so damn long to do anything?”

 

“Would you refrain from acting like a spoilt child?” Daenerys scolded. “We are about to meet the royal family of a realm few have ever even stepped foot in. It is a momentous occasion and could mean sure prosperity for--”

 

“I know, mother, I know,” Aemon returned softly, turning and bending to kiss her cheek. Jon did not know where the boy got his height, but he already stood almost eye-level with him and was bound to be taller by him by at least a few inches-- a fact that Jon was sure would irk him for the rest of his days. “I am sorry for being such an ass, I’m just… impatient to get off this ship and clap eyes on the place.” He paused, leaning away from Daenerys and looking her up and down with those pale eyes so much like his mother’s. “You look lovely, mother.” Aemon’s eyes slid to Jon. “Why haven’t you changed, father?”

 

“You know how he is, dear,” Daenerys replied with a scoff. “He’s being stubborn.”

 

Aemon cracked a smile, shaking his head. “Unthinkable.”

 

Jon rolled his eyes. “Where is your sister?” he asked, more to change the subject than anything. He knew very well where his oldest daughter could be found-- if she wasn’t in the rigging. To eliminate this fairly horrifying possibility, he glanced upward, just to be sure.

 

“Tinkering with something or another below decks,” Aemon answered with a shrug. “Ducking the handmaidens.”

 

Daenerys quirked an eyebrow at Jon. “She is certainly her father’s daughter.”

 

Jon shook his head as Arya barked a laugh in acknowledgment. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said as he stepped away. “I have a daughter to cajole and a dress to change into.”

 

“It’s a dashiki!” Daenerys cried after him.

 

+++

 

The very _air_ was different.

 

It _felt_ different. It was thick and clung to her skin like wet cotton. The heat was a very familiar thing to her to be sure, a comforting weight on her shoulders, but the oppressive humidity was another trial altogether.

 

It also _smelled_ different— distinctly riparian and unmistakable— clay and soft wood and tannin-rich reed groves. It was an aroma that could be found in Westeros, but it was paired with something else that was pointedly foreign. The sweet, heady smell of rotted fruit, the musk of leaf litter, and the tang of the very earth itself— the sun baking away at root and stem, creating a near constant mist that soaked the lungs with petrichor and sweet rot.  

 

The _sounds_ as well… it was as noisy as Kings Landing during market day. The bellow of gibbons and the snort of some kind of jungle deer. The near-constant chorus of insects and frogs, the jabber of birds inumerable. They even heard the distant trumpet of elephants almost as soon as they had boarded the barge. Shuri had told them that they were entering the Techano jungle, a wilderness as vast as the Dothraki Sea and thrice as wild.

 

Her husband sat beside her on the spindly couch, twitchy and tense as ever, tugging at the collar of his dashiki and roving his eyes about as if he expected some strange creature to burst from the wild green that hemmed the wide, sluggish river they floated upon. Arya had called it “the River of Grace and Wisdom” before she had retired under the linen canopy at the stern of the ship to sleep off the long journey up the river. Evidently, the novelty of the scenery and the company had worn off. Missandei sat on an ottoman to Dany’s right, straight-backed and proper, as usual, listening intently to the idle chatter of the two bare-chested guards that stood behind her. She was most eager to learn a new language.

 

Aemon sat on the edge of the chaise across from them, as eager and nervous as a hungry hound. He stared wide-eyed, looking both scared and fascinated, at a gang of monkeys lazing in the high branches munching on figs, jumped at the cry of some strange bird as it was startled from its roost.

 

Her daughter, on the other hand, was walking the length of the massive barge with their escort, Shuri, the sister of King T’Challa. Rhaella had almost instantly gravitated to the clever young woman when they had hoved their boat onto the sand. After introductions and a gracious (and quite genuine) praise of the vessel that would be transporting them, Shuri explained quite proudly how she had devised a some new and inventive technique to craft it-- specifically for this momentous occasion. Rhaella, being the creature of curiosity that she was, was rendered smitten.

 

The craft that now bore them was indeed unlike anything Dany had ever seen. It looked as if it had been carved clean and precise from the hulk of a single, ancient tree as black as soot. Veins of glowing amber swirled through it, gleaming in the dappled sun that filtered through the branches bowing over them. It glided through the water, shunted along seemingly effortlessly by two oarsmen with long poles, resplendent with brilliant silks and leopard pelts.

 

“Please, eat, my friends,” a kind-eyed man named W’kabi said from across them. He was one of T’Challa’s closest friends and the leader of the Border Tribes, the first defense of Wakanda against invaders and brigands. They rode rhinos into battle-- whatever those were. At least that’s how Daenerys had understood it from Arya’s briefings. That had been weeks ago and she still felt like her head was spinning.

 

W’kabi leaned forward, perched on the edge of the cushions and picked up a strange, scaly fruit from the palm leaf that covered the entire surface of the mahogany table between them. “This is monkey fruit. It is soft and sweet.” He placed it down and indicated a sizable pile of shaved meat. “And this is cured goat. It is a delicacy. As sweet as guava, but as savory as salted beef. Have Your Graces ever had goat?”

 

Before either she or her husband could answer, Tormund butted in, evidently returning from his “first piss in a jungle”.

 

“Goat is delicious!” he cried, looking quite out of place with his fiery beard paired with his airy linen tunic. “If it wasn’t deer or elk, it was goat for most of my days beyond the Wall, but I’ve never had it cured before.”

 

At this, W’kabi looked at him, slightly mystified by what, exactly, ‘beyond the Wall’ meant. He shook it off, piling a generous helping of the translucent meat onto a little golden saucer and handing it over to Tormund. “Please, my friend, and tell me if you’ve ever had anything more delicious.”

 

Daenerys thought that Tormund seemed quite like a shark on a mountaintop, but, as she had expected, he was adapting as easily as water adapts to the shape of a bottle. He had flatly refused to be left behind, claiming that “the scarred fucker” and the “old man” could not be their only security retinue. Daenerys seriously doubted that his protestations were his only motivation in joining in on the journey.

 

Dany watched as Tormund ate almost the entire offering in one bite, his eyes lighting up with glee. “Now that’s some fucking goat.”

 

Davos, standing behind them and still resolutely dressed in his usual salt-stained leathers, hissed in rebuke. “Tormund, could you maybe set a better example? Our hosts are going to think the worst of us--”

 

“It is quite alright!” W’kabi interrupted with a flamboyant wave of his hands. Dany had already noted how expressive the people seemed to be with their gestures here. “It was a compliment after all.” He looked to her and Jon, raising his eyebrows as he indicated the lavish spread before them. Dany shook her head. “I’m afraid I just ate, my lord.”

 

The man shook his head, looking to the statuesque woman standing next to the chaise in bewilderment. “T’challa told me these Westerosi had strange customs, but I don’t think our king properly prepared me.”

 

The woman grinned, tapping the butt of her fearsome looking spear upon the deck. “Don’t be so boorish, W’kabi. As I understand it, ‘my lord’ is simply a gesture of respect. Which is more than the likes of you deserves.”

 

W’kabi simply tilted his head with a knowing frown, turning his attention back to them. “Okoye has a point, Your Graces. ‘W’kabi’ will work just fine going forward.”

 

Jon nodded. “I appreciate the show of hospitality… W’ka… W’kabi, but I am afraid that my stomach is still settling after a month at sea.”

 

W’kabi inclined his head. “A plight we have in common, Your Grace. I am also not accustomed to the sea.”

 

“May I try?” Aemon asked eagerly, leaning forward with roving eyes as if he had just noticed the delicacies that lay in front of him.

 

“Of course!” W’kabi said graciously, spreading his arms as Aemon piled the cured goat as well as the plethora of fruits and pickled roots onto his plate.

 

“Don’t be greedy, my love,” Dany warned.

 

“He can take as much as he likes, Your Grace,” W’kabi assured with a grin. “Hospitality is sacred in Wakanda. There is plenty more.”

 

“We could not be more grateful for it,” Jon said, leaning his elbows on his thighs. “It is more than we could have ever wished for.”

 

“Our king and queen are gracious and noble,” Okoye said seriously, looking over them both with a critical gaze. “He and your sister tell me that so are you.”

 

Jon looked at the woman, a bit taken aback. Daenerys remembered Arya telling her that Okoye was the captain of an elite fighting force, equivocal to the Kingsguard in Westeros. Except, shockingly, this force was made up entirely of women. She had proven as fearsome as Arya had described her.

 

“There is a saying in our country… ‘words are wind’,” Dany began coolly in light of her husband’s silence. “We cannot assure you of these claims with words alone. Only time will reveal the truth.”

 

Okoye did not give much away, but Dany saw her eyes lighten, her lips twitch. The woman regarded her carefully for a moment longer before waving her spear between The Hound and Jorah, standing silently on either side of the couch her and her husband sat in. “These men,” she began skeptically, “they are your guard?”

 

“Aye,” Jon replied, “they are two of the best fighters in the world, I’d venture to guess.”

 

Okoye tried to keep the doubt from her face, but was most unsuccessful by Dany’s estimation. “Forgive me, King Snow, but how can this one,” she said as she pointed her spear at Clegane, “even move… much less fight to protect you?”

 

“King Snow doesn’t need much protection,” Clegane replied sourly, the first words he had uttered since they had landed on the beach. “But armor is better than a spear in your gut.”

 

Okoye grinned, maybe a bit smug. “Is it not your duty to protect your king? Not yourself?”

 

“Aye, and I can’t very well do that if I’m dead, can I?”

 

Okoye did not respond, only inclining her head, before turning her fierce gaze to Jorah. “And this one! He looks as old as Zuri.”

 

“Ser Jorah has saved my life more times than I can count, my lady,” Dany replied breezily. Arya had also warned them all of the Wakandan sense of humor-- which seemingly consisted of jibes and teasing. The more they disparaged, the more they liked you, apparently.

 

Okoye grinned, leaning on her spear gripped within both her hands. “I have heard much about the prowess of the Westerosi. I look forward to testing those tales.”

 

Jon huffed. “I hear that my sister was able to at least come to a draw with you in a spar.”

 

Okoye looked a bit scandalized for a moment before a wide, slightly wicked smile snaked its way onto her face. “She did, Your Grace. She tells me that her brother is even better.”

 

Before her husband could respond, W’kabi intervened, sensing tension. “Your sister tells me you have two other children,” he ventured magnanimously. “You’ve left them behind?”

 

Dany nodded. “We thought them too young for such a long journey. They remain in King’s Landing with my husband’s oldest sister and my Hand.”

 

“Understandable,” he returned with a smile. “And what of the dragons, Your Grace? I cannot help but notice their absence.”

 

Dany smiled tightly. “I thought it best for them to remain with the rest of the fleet, until such a time your people are more prepared to see such a marvel. They tend to… frighten people, and that is not what I came here to do.”

 

W’kabi nodded, trying to suppress his frown of disappointment. Dany did not think much of it… she was well used to people’s over eagerness to catch a glimpse of her dragons. She could not well blame them.

 

Their host reached for an ewer carved from some strange, brightly colored gourd before him and poured from it a liquid that looked as golden as honey and almost as thick. “Guava wine,” he supplied as he handed her a tiny, fluted glass. “I look forward to the wine you’ve brought from your homeland, Your Grace. I suspect that this will prove far inferior.”

 

She waited patiently as W’kabi poured a glass for Jon. He looked at her and her husband questioningly before he passed a glass to Aemon as well, Jon giving his ascent with a nod. W’kabi looked to Tormund. “And you, my red friend?”

 

“Aye,” Tormund replied, taking the proffered cup eagerly.

 

“A drink for my advisor as well,” Dany said lightly. “If you don’t mind.”

 

“Of course,” W’kabi replied, passing over another glass to Missandei. He looked up to Davos. “And what of the dour one?”

 

Dany and Jon glanced over their shoulder at Davos, who simply shook his head.

 

“To a most fruitful friendship!” W’kabi declared, raising his glass. Dany and everyone else with a serving of the strange drink followed suit.

 

As they threw it back, everyone sputtered, save for Tormund, who slammed the glass back on the table, clapping W’kabi on the shoulder so hard the man nearly fell over. “Now that’s a drink, my friend.”

 

Dany was disinclined to agree. Not only was it strong, it tasted like overripe fruit and oddly of wet leather.

 

W’kabi laughed heartily at the response the spirit had conjured. He looked to Okoye. “I doubt the quality of this Westerosi wine.”

 

“It may not be as strong,” Missandei gasped. “But at least it is enjoyable to drink.”

 

Okoye looked at W’kabi with a raised brow and a shrug. “She has a point.”

 

W’kabi waved his hand in dismissal. “Whatever the quality of spirits, our esteemed guests come with other treasures.” He tilted his chin at them. “Tell me more of these beasts you bring. I have been most curious.”

 

“800 of the finest steeds that Westeros has to offer,” Jon said, his cheeks still a bit red from the drink. “Bred and trained by Dothraki horse lords who have centuries of practice in the art.” Jon looked to her with a fond smile. “But my wife is the truer authority on the subject.”

 

W’kabi nodded, leaning forward in interest. “Yes, I have heard about your affinity with the horse people. Your sister tells me that amongst your many titles, you include their word for ‘queen’.”

 

“Yes,” Dany responded proudly. “They are my people and I am their _khaleesi_ as much as I am queen of the Seven Kingdoms. And the horses of the Dothraki are not only the finest Westeros has to offer, but the world.”

 

Okoye’s eyebrow shot up at that. “That is a tall claim.”

 

“One I do not make lightly, my lady.” Okoye smiled at her, endeared by Dany’s confidence, it seemed. “Your rhinos may be fierce and powerful, but they are not easily transported,” she continued. “From what Arya has told me and my husband, large herds are not sustainable. I have also come to understand that only you and the thousand or so warriors under your command can successfully train and ride such beasts.”

 

W’kabi nodded slowly before leaning back into the cushions with a shrug. “If my rhinos have protected Wakanda for this long, I don’t see why we need a to bring a new creature to our assistance.”

 

Dany smirked, unamused. “Horses can do more than be one of the largest advantages to any army, my lord, but that is besides the point. Your king is the one who will decide if our gifts are of any use to him and his kingdom.”

 

Okoye threw her head back and laughed loudly. “Do not worry, Your Grace,” she gasped between giggles as W’kabi sat silently, looking very put upon. “W’kabi is simply jealous. There is nothing in this world he loves more than his rhinos.”

 

“Well, the journey is long, my friends,” W’kabi said as graciously as possible while giving Okoye a withering glare. “And I know you must be exhausted. Please, feel free to use the canopies and hammocks and relax.” He stood, giving them a bow. “If there is anything you need at all, my friends, please don’t hesitate.”

 

After him and Okoye had left them, Dany exchanged a look with her husband, who seemed so immensely relieved to finally be left alone to rest and perhaps even sleep, she thought that he might just collapse right then and there on the couch.

 

She stood up silently, took his hand, and lead him to the stern of the barge where the canopies-- and the plethora of cushions-- awaited them.

 

+++

 

Rhaella was practically vibrating with excitement next to him, twisting the end of her dark plait within both hands. “What do you think it will be like father?” she asked him breathlessly. “Do you think it will look like Old Valyria? With glowing stones and towers as tall as mountains?”

 

Jon laughed, shaking his head. “I know as much as you do, love,” he said, wrapping his arm about her shoulders to keep her from flying right out of her skin. “I have no idea what to expect.”

 

“It looks nothing like Old Valyria,” Arya answered thickly through a mouthful of mango. She had changed into a woven vest and a short dashiki, paired oddly with her doeskin trousers. “It’s more like Volantis, really… but much more impressive.”

 

Rhaella squealed in excitement. As much as Rhaella likened to her father in looks and temperament, she was much like her aunt Arya when it came to her wanderlust. Jon’s youngest sister now spent her days as his and Dany’s diplomatic envoy, crisscrossing the globe to forge alliances and dine with dignitaries. Rhaella had always been desperately envious and hung on Arya’s every word whenever she returned from a mission. The journey to Wakanda had been Arya’s idea and had been hotly contested. No one was quite sure if the legendary kingdom of wealth and prosperity to the west actually existed, after all. She had been gone nearly nine months and feared dead or captured before her triumphant return.

 

Their party had been stirred from their lazing by the call-and-answer of horn blasts. They were approaching the Pass of the Serpent, which would lead them directly to the feet of the great palace.

 

In front of them rose a mighty wall of verdant cliffs, threaded with countless waterfalls-- some nothing more than silvery wisps of water trickling through moss and brightly colored bromeliads, others roaring down from the precipice in a white, frothy torrent. The churning water was kicking up a thick, cooling mist as they drew nearer. It was a breathtaking sight, to be sure. Most everyone was gathered around the bow of the barge, silent and awestruck.

 

“This is the Lair of Sobek, the god of the crocodiles, and those are the Falls of the Warrior,” Shuri explained. “This is a holy place. Shobek and the spirits of slain warriors protect the way to Wakanda. Navigating these waters is exceedingly dangerous if you don’t know what you’re doing. There are countless whirlpools and hidden shoals. And then, of course, the man-eating crocodiles,” she added with a wicked grin.

 

Tormund blinked at her, as if under a spell, before leaning closer to Jon. “The fuck is a crocodile?” he muttered.

 

Jon shrugged and there was another horn blast from one of the many rocky perches next to the largest and mightiest of the waterfalls. Shuri pointed up to the top of the cliff with an excited smile. “Oh, this is good.”

 

The man who had blown the horn, as well as another on the opposite side of the fall, took great clubs in hand and swung them at stakes wedged in a crevice of the cliff. It took them three swings, but the stakes were finally knocked free, and with a great rumbling and the roar of disturbed water, the snarling, fearsome face of a panther carved from an enormous stone emerged from the cliff face and through the sheet of water, diverting the flow so the barge may float safely into the great cavern beyond.

 

“I’m working on something better,” Shuri said with a shake of her head. “The old girl is too hard to put back again-- too heavy. It’s a defensive nightmare. What if someone was tailing us?”

 

“Is that one of your gods, too?” Rhaella asked breathlessly, the excitement and stimulation nearly making her to forget how to breathe.

 

Shuri nodded at her. “That is Bast, the panther goddess and the strongest of them all. She blesses our king with her power and wisdom.”

 

Okoye snorted and Shuri laughed in response, but all those gathered quickly fell silent as the shadow of the cavern passed over them.

 

The Pass of the Serpent was well named, as the cave twisted and turned like the body of a great snake. The cavern ws blessedly cool and quiet. It took his eyes a good minute to adjust to the dimly lit passage, but when they did they, he gasped.

 

Carved into the limestone walls were countless etchings of animals-- the number too many to possibly count. Panthers and monkeys and others besides he could not begin to name. No lantern or torch lit their path-- instead the strange, purple glow from the animals’ eyes emmated through the wide tunnel and reflected eeirly from the black mirror of the stagnant river. It was as beautiful as it was chilling. “Fire Bugs,” Shuri supplied proudly. “I figured out how to make their purple fire into a… paint, of sorts.”

 

Dazed, Jon looked about the barge, noticing that the large, crystal lanterns that hung from brass poles at the bow had been illuminated with a soft purple light. Shuri plucked one from its perch and passed it to Rhaella. His daughter nearly squealed in delight as she held up the lantern for him to see. It was filled with fat, black beetles the size of his thumb, little bellies aglow with the strange violet light.

 

“It’s beautiful,” Daenerys said quietly from beside him, squeezing his hand in her own.

 

“You’ve seen nothing yet, Your Grace,” Shuri told her with a wink.

 

She had not been wrong.

 

They turned a bend in the tunnel and a bright, white light appeared before them. “This is it,” Arya whispered in his ear. Daenerys shifted closer to him, both excited and nervous. He disentangled their fingers and opted for twining an arm about her waist, which she leaned into gratefully. Aemon inched forward over the prow, eager.

 

They emerged from a curtain of vines, heavy with tiny purple blossoms, into a wide, crystalline lake and back into the glaring sun.

 

“I’ll be damned,” Tormund said with a low whistle.

 

To their left was a great mountain face, terraced with strange, geothermal pools that flowed in and out of each other like an enormous fountain. “The sacred mountain,” Shuri explained before nodding ahead of them, “and the Palace.”

 

Straight ahead was a conical structure made of stone, capped with what looked to be the biggest stalks of bamboo Jon had ever seen. It’s many palisades and balconies were shaded with grass roofs. Two statues of panthers sat stately and fearsome at the foot of the complex, guarding the large stone pier they were making their way towards.

 

The sound of drums could be heard echoing off the water, and the dark-skinned inhabitants of the city were packed onto the lake’s sloping banks, waving brightly colored kerchiefs and dancing and shouting in greeting. Some were gathered on tiny little fishing skiffs, or other, enormous trading barges much like the one they were on now.

 

Rhaella was bouncing on her feet, waving back to the people on the shore. “Hello!” she called over the clamor of drums and flutes. “Hello!”

 

Jon immediately noticed the diversity of dress and adornment from the people assembled on the beaches. Grass skirts, silk dashikis, linen robes, animal skins and jewel-bright gowns that reminded him of the tokars that were so popular in Mereen. He spotted women with so many golden bands around their necks, they seemed almost elongated. Men with their bottom lips stretched over a disk of wood or clay. Hair as red as rust, or as blue as the sea-- some long and dreaded, but most short shorn-- even the women. Arya had told them that although Wakanda was isolated and its borders encompassed a relatively small amount of land compared to Westeros, its tribes were numerous and diverse.

 

He looked to his wife, who seemed just as dumbstruck as he, and they both raised their hands to wave in greeting. Tormund followed suit, waving his arm like he was flagging down a rider on the road. Aemon also joined in, though more sedately. He was looking a bit pale, a bit overwhelmed. Jon could not well blame him.

 

After what seemed like an eternity, the barge bellied up to the stone dock between the fearsome panthers as tall as trees. The oarsmen leapt from the deck and busied themselves lashing the craft, before unfolding a gangplank from the side of it, the seams of it cleverly hidden within the wood.

 

They all clambered out of the barge and onto the pier as T’Challa and his retinue made their way toward them.

 

Shuri stepped before them, crossing her arms over her chest, pounding her fists on her shoulders and giving a shallow bow. T’Challa returned the gesture with a wide smile. “Sister!” he greeted as he enveloped her in a hug. “I am glad to see that you have not scared off our guests!”

 

“Not for want of trying,” Okoye declared as she walked forward. “As I’m sure you assumed.”

 

T’Challa laughed. “Quite right, yes.” He turned his attention to Jon and his company. “My honored guests!” he cried, bowing again. Jon, Dany, Aemon and Rhaella all returned the peculiar gesture, just as they had practiced. “I hope my friend W’kabi was most hospitable to you,” he said as the man in question approached.

 

“Most hospitable, thank you, Your Grace,” Daenerys returned with a nod.

 

T’Challa smiled, turning to Arya and folding her into a back-clapping hug. “And Arya Stark! It is a blessing to see you again.”

 

Arya grinned knowingly. “I’m not sure if I’ve ever heard that before.” She waved a hand to Jon and Daenerys. “T’Challa, this is my brother, King Jon Targaryen-- but most still call him King Snow-- and his wife, Daenerys Targaryen.”

 

T’Challa stepped forward, taking Jon’s hand in both his own warmly as he kissed both his cheeks, Jon clumsily returning the gesture. “It is such an honor to have you here, Your Graces.” He turned to Daenerys to give her the proper greeting of a queen-- a kiss to the knuckles. Jon was quite surprised to see that the king was dressed in a long black dashiki that looked almost exactly like the one he now donned. He felt his heart, already hammering in his chest, jump up to a new pace.

 

A beautiful woman dressed in a seafoam gown approached just then and T’Challa indicated her with much flourish. “This is my wife and queen, Nakia.”

 

“Such and honor to finally meet both of you, Your Graces,” Jon managed to say through his overworked nerves as he took Nakia’s hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles.

 

“And who is this young man?” T’Challa asked, clapping Aemon on the shoulder as he shook his hand. “I thought you said in your letter that your son was not yet grown! He is nearly as tall as his father!”

 

Aemon looked positively elated at this praise. “I’m Aemon Targaryen, Your Grace.”

 

“Ah, we best keep an eye on this one,” Nakia said pointedly. “He seems a heartbreaker.”

 

“Not quite yet, Your Grace,” Daenerys said with a fond smile to their son. “But soon, I am sure.”

 

“And this must be Rhaella?” Nakia asked as she knelt in front of the girl in question. For all her eagerness to get here and see this place, his daughter seemed to have clammed up upon witnessing the majesty of the king and queen and their fierce cadre of warrior women. She was nearly hiding behind Daenerys’ skirt, blushing furiously.

 

“Rhaella, sweetling, don’t be rude,” Daenerys entreated, to no avail.

 

Nakia laughed, coming to her feet. “It’s quite alright. I have a daughter who is quite shy as well.”

 

“Which, I suppose is why she seems to be absent,” T’Challa pointed out with an exasperated breath. “I must apologize for my daughter’s rudeness. She disappeared not an hour ago.”

 

Jon shook his head. “No need for apologies. We often have to send out search parties for this one and her little brother.”

 

T’Challa grinned. “The joys of parenthood.” He rubbed his hands together, before waving to the palace behind him. “Well, come along, my friends. There is much feasting to be done this night!”

 

And with that, the party made their way up the pier and into the shadow of the great palace.

 

+++

  
  
  
  



	2. Feast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’d had the barrels of Arbor Gold brought up for the celebration and T’Challa suggested it be served to accompany their dinner. “It’s sweeter than the Guava wine we tasted earlier today,” she warned. 
> 
> Nakia sipped at it first, then went in for another. She nodded to T’Challa, “I know one thing I want in trade with your country,” she said and drank down the rest. She held out her glass for more and Daenerys obliged.
> 
> “Daenerys,” T’Challa began, “tomorrow we will meet for discussion of trade and how our civilizations can help one another, but you know why it is we really sought you out.”
> 
> She nodded and looked up at him in understanding. “Arya told me about the ore you found. That it takes more than simply fire to break it down.”
> 
> He nodded. “We believe that this will help improve the way of life for our people. And whatever we discover, we will share with you. But your dragons will be most critical.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Ashley here! Huge thanks to FrostbitePanda, my co-writer, for reading over this and making it better! Also thanks to everyone for their love and support for this fic. Especially the Tarts.

 

Nakia and Daenerys led the way into the palace, Jon and T’Challa following behind. Daenerys was struck by the beauty of the palace at first glance, but then by the detailed carvings of Kings and Queens from the past, warriors and animals as they went deeper inside. Once in the throne room, Daenerys gasped at the large windows that showed the city below. Her amazement was a hard thing to keep contained, and the quick intake of breath was something that she couldn’t control as she took in the view of the river falling into the rich jungles. Just above the trees, she could see Savannah fading into the horizon. 

 

She heard a squeal of delight behind her and turned to see her daughter rushing forward to take in the view as well. “It’s so beautiful,” she exclaimed.

 

“We thank you, Princess,” Nakia said with a soft smile and an even sweeter voice. 

 

Daenerys felt Jon’s hand brush the small of her back as he came to stand behind her. Something about the city below seemed to shine in the bright sunlight. “Everything is so green,” Daenerys said softly. “Beyond my expectations.”

 

T’Challa gave her a bright smile. “I heard you have done a lot of traveling, Your Grace. It pleases me to hear we have exceeded what I assume to be lofty expectations.”

 

Daenerys turned to look at him and gave him a nod. “The bright bays of Mereen, the dark stone of Dragonstone, the great grass sea of the Dothraki, the snows of Winterfell... all have a certain charm about them, and exotic as they are, they seem more conventional compared to this.” She looked back at the jungle and even the bright blue of the river. “I find this to be breathtaking.”

 

Nakia linked her arm through Daenerys’s, taking her away from the window and to a chair to sit down. “What about Westeros? You mentioned snow.”

 

Jon and T’Challa joined them and Daenerys gave her husband a loving smile. “My husband was raised in the North of the country. They are a hardy and loyal people. It seems each region is different. Deserts in Dorne, the Reach is where our main food supply comes from, the River Lands are, of course, full of rivers and swamplands. The Eyrie is a mountainous area. The farther you move North, the colder it grows, the air changes,” She then smiled at Nakia. “Until a short time before the war, Tormund lived beyond The Wall.”

 

“I still miss the smell of the clean air,” Tormund responded.

 

Aemon and Shuri took a seat near Daenerys. She nearly laughed as she watched Rhaella insert herself between the two, beginning to bombard Shuri with questions. 

 

Their attention was turned to the door as another person joined them. She was a beautiful young woman, with wide eyes, dark skin, and dark hair. She looked like a younger version of Nakia, and Daenerys assumed this was their missing daughter. They all stood as she moved to stand in front of her mother. “You’re late,” Nakia said sternly, but Daenerys recognized the sound of disappointment in the other woman’s voice. She could see with the way Desta lowered her head in apology that the young girl realized she was in trouble.

 

“Apologies. I lost track of the time while in the infirmary. One of the local women had two beautiful babies this morning,” she explained, clearly hoping that it would blunt her mother’s anger.

 

Nakia turned to Daenerys and gave her a smile. “Queen Daenerys and King Jon, this is our daughter, Princess Desta. She has set her sights on becoming a healer and it takes over her entire world, even when things are...  _ pressing _ .”

 

Daenerys smiled as the Princess bowed to both Jon and Daenerys. Desta turned to the other members of their company to greet them as well, and Daenerys noticed the wide-eyed look on her son’s face as he stared at the newly arrived princess. She smiled at Jon, who raised his eyebrows in tacit agreement -- their usually loquacious son was struck mute, and that was as telling as his poleaxed expression. 

 

“Princess Desta, this is our son, Prince Aemon, and our daughter, Princess Rhaella,” Jon introduced, fighting a knowing grin from forming on his face.

 

Desta didn’t take her eyes off the fair-haired young man, equally caught off guard by him, it seemed. “Princess,” Aemon finally said with a bow of his head and then kissed the back of her hand when she raised it.

 

Daenerys sneaked a look at Nakia, who seemed amused. 

 

“Shuri, why don’t you take Princess Rhaella to your workroom? We have much to talk about that will likely bore the young princess,” T’Challa prodded.

 

Shuri nodded and stood. “Good. It’s getting too thick in here, anyway,” she said as she bowed her head and left the room with Rhaella at her side, nearly bouncing as they walked down the hall.

 

Aemon offered Desta the seat beside him which she took and the two continued to stare at one another. Nakia rolled her eyes at Desta and Armon’s obvious crush. She then stood summoned one of the servants to pour them drinks. “I think you’ll like this, Your Grace. Millet whiskey,” she gestured for everyone in the room to be given a glass. Daenerys sipped at it, finding it better than the guava wine from earlier, but still not to her liking. She knew it would be bad form to refuse it, though, and instead sipped at it. Nakia took their attention away from the young ones with her next question, “Tales of dragons have always fascinated me...but I have never heard the tale of the wayward princess who brought them back to life.”

 

Jon immediately locked eyes with Daenerys-- they had discussed how to best explain where her children had come from. Jon was a man who truly believed that honesty was the best way to go through life. She agreed, to an extent. “They were given to me as eggs at a feast for my first wedding. They were believed to be petrified and nothing more than something pretty.”

 

“But they hatched?” The princess questioned. “How is it that eggs, believed to be nothing but stone, suddenly bore dragons?”

 

Daenerys shared a look with Jorah, the only one in the room with her on that fateful day all those years ago. “When my husband died, I put them on his funeral pyre and they hatched from it.”

 

Nakia frowned. “The fire hatched them?”

 

She shook her head. “That does appear to be what happened but I have another theory that is far too dark for some so young,” she said as she glanced at Aemon and Desta.

 

T’Challa nodded. “We can speak of this more at another time. Until then, I believe you and your King might enjoy some of the local fauna.”

 

“We look forward to seeing even more of your lands. You make quite the first impression,” Jon replied.

 

T’challa gave them all a pleasant smile and leaned back in his chair a little, obviously feeling more comfortable with them, but still looked every bit as dignified as the king he was. “Your sister tells us you are quite the warrior, King Snow.”

 

Jon squirmed beneath the attention. She was well aware of his stance on fighting, that he thought he was good at it, he didn’t like it. She noticed Okoye raise her eyebrows, interest piqued in their conversation, though. “It was a bloody business, learning to hone my skills. Too many battles, too many wars, and too many lives lost.”

 

“Okoye is the best we have in Wakanda, but she came to a draw with your sister.” T’Challa smiled playfully at his general. “I wonder if she could actually be defeated.”

 

Jon folded his hands in his lap and rubbed his fingers together. It was what he did when he was uncomfortable or even anxious. “I don’t fight for sport.”

 

“You no longer fight in wars, either,” Okoye challenged. “Is it possible that your ego couldn’t handle being bested by a woman?”

 

Daenerys was ready to intercede on Jon’s behalf, but he smiled. “I’m married, my Lady. I’m bested by a woman every day.”

 

They all laughed and even Okoye had to smile at that. “I would like to see what sort of male warriors Westeros has produced. As you are their king, perhaps you might humor me.”

 

Daenerys observed the conflicted look on his face, but he seemed to come to the conclusion that protesting further would be rude, so he conceded. “Perhaps.”

 

“You say where and when, Your Grace, and I will show you the best of Wakanda’s defenses.” T’challa looked to Daenerys. “And what about you, Your Grace? Are you trained in combat?”

 

She gave him a small smile. “The only weapons I’ve ever had are my mind and my dragons, Your Grace. Later, when I sailed to Westeros, I acquired the King in the North, a Wildling, and a Hound as additional protection,” she said as she looked on each of them with affection. “I was fortunate enough to be in the air for most of the battles.”

 

“Your dragons are big enough to ride?” Nakia questioned, her wide eyes shining brightly in the fading light of day. It made her even more radiant.

 

“For several people to ride at once, but they have to agree to that. After we have our negotiations tomorrow, I will be happy to bring them for you to see. Somewhere with a lot of room for them to land and where they won’t be tempted to eat your livestock.”

 

T’Challa nodded. “Very well, Your Grace. But tonight, you will be treated to the lively hospitality of Wakanda and its people with a true feast.” He stood and the others all followed. “My Queen and I will show you to your rooms. They overlook one of the Savannahs.”

 

T’challa held his arm out to Daenerys and she took it with a smile and Jon did the same for Nakia. Daenerys glanced over her shoulder to see Aemon do the same for Desta, and she was amused to see her son blush under the scrutiny of the beautiful, young princess. 

 

*~*

 

Daenerys leaned against the balcony and smiled to feel Jon’s arms wrap around her waist and his lips at her neck. She turned and slid her hands over the silk of the dashiki he was wearing. It had been laid out for the feast that evening. It was black like the one he had arrived in, but the threaded detail was crimson instead of silver. The gown for her was the opposite color pattern, crimson with dark black thread. 

 

“What did you think of them?” Jon questioned, pulling back from her a bit to see her face. 

 

“I like them. Their people appear to like them, as well.”

 

Jon nodded. “It seems to me, my queen, that our son is rather taken with their daughter.”

 

She chuckled and moved out of his arms, reaching up to make sure her hair stayed in place beneath the wrap. “That boy has never been at a loss for words before, but one look from her and he’s struck mute.”

 

“And what about  _ her _ ? Quick to explain herself but suddenly quiet and unable to take her eyes off Aemon once she saw him?”

 

Daenerys smiled. “He’s as handsome as his father. I can’t blame her.”

 

Jon rolled his eyes. “Negotiations will be interesting tomorrow,” he said, changing the subject. “They didn’t even ask about the horses.”

 

“That’s because they don’t yet know the usefulness of them.”

 

“It’s all about the dragons. Just as you suspected, though.”

 

She moved back to him on the balcony and she watched as the sun began to dip below the horizon. Fires and the glow from the purple firebugs from the caves earlier began to illuminate the city and Daenerys was once again struck by its beauty. “I do know one thing, Jon.”

 

“What’s that?”

 

“We have a lot of work to do on King’s Landing before they can visit,” she said as she tucked her hand into his. 

 

He chuckled and shook his head. “You don’t think they would be impressed by the large holes in the roof of the throne room or the scorch marks where the dragon pit once stood?”

 

She looked at him and reached up to brush her fingers over the scowl lines around his eyes. “This is not the night to worry of such things. The king and queen are bringing us to a feast.”

 

Jon smiled and gave her a slight nod before a knock sounded at their door and Aemon stuck his head in. “They’re ready for us.”

 

*~*

 

T'challa explained that each color of light represented a tribe of the Wakandan people. Green, blue, purple, red, and yellow circled around the room as they were escorted to the main table. T’challa settled Daenerys beside Nakia and he took the seat on the other side, Jon on the other side of the Wakandan Queen. Arya, Aemon, Desta and the rest were settled along the far ends of the table. Okoye made sure she was seated near Arya as the two women had become quick allies upon her first visit. 

 

The scent of smoked meat and fresh fruits filled the air. There was a large selection of both, some of which she could identify and some she could not. Ripe mangos and brightly colored strawberries decorated a platter of what appeared to be more of the roasted goat they had been presented with earlier. Another platter offered crisply sliced apples and lush oranges surrounding smoked boar. A bird of some kind sat amongst an array of fruits she did not know but longed to taste each one.

 

“Your Grace, you have two more children? What are their names?” T’Challa asked as they were being served plates of food.  

 

Daenerys thought about her children they had left behind at King’s Landing and her heart ached. Young Robb, with his desire to impress everyone around him and Lyanna’s sweet shyness that led her to only trust a few people but to be overcome with joy when she saw them. She couldn’t help the sad smile that formed on her lips as she spoke of them, “We have another boy and girl. Robb and Lyanna. They were simply too young to make the journey.”

 

Nakia smiled and gave a nod. “I’m sure we will be able to find an excuse for another visit.”

 

Daenerys nodded, casting a glance at Aemon and how he was hanging on every word Desta said to him. Her boy was smitten. 

 

Once all of the platters had been settled onto the table, Daenerys was overtaken by the spectacle of it all. She had been on the receiving end of feasts before, but Wakanda seemed to take everything she thought she knew and spin it on its head to make it more ostentatious. She knew, from speaking with T’Challa and Nakia that it wasn’t boasting, but it was the tradition of the people to be so welcoming. The king gestured to the platters before them and began to explain what she was seeing and would be tasting, “You have before you, Your Grace...” 

 

Daenerys interrupted the king and smiled at him politely. “Please call me Daenerys. And I’m sure Jon will insist upon you calling him Jon.”

 

“Then I ask you call me T’Challa, Daenerys.”

 

She nodded. “As you were saying about the food?”

 

Daenerys found that not only was there more cured goat but boar and giraffe, which Daenerys found to be bitter. The fruits were exemplary, however. It was all she could do not to groan out loud the second she put the first bite of fresh mango into her mouth. Nakia had only smiled at her and passed a piece over to Jon. He wasn’t as adventurous when it came to food as she was, and he usually didn’t eat just to savor food. His life at the Wall had taught him to eat quickly. But she watched him bite into it and his eyes closed in pleasure.

 

She’d had the barrels of Arbor Gold brought up for the celebration and T’Challa suggested it be served to accompany their dinner. “It’s sweeter than the Guava wine we tasted earlier today,” she warned. 

 

Nakia sipped at it first, then went in for another. She nodded to T’Challa, “I know one thing I want in trade with your country,” she said and drank down the rest. She held out her glass for more and Daenerys obliged.

 

“Daenerys,” T’Challa began, “tomorrow we will meet for discussion of trade and how our civilizations can help one another, but you know why it is we really sought you out.”

 

She nodded and looked up at him in understanding. “Arya told me about the ore you found. That it takes more than simply fire to break it down.”

 

He nodded. “We believe that this will help improve the way of life for our people. And whatever we discover, we will share with you. But your dragons will be most critical.”

 

She took another sip of her wine and smiled up at him. “We’re here to seek help in making our war-torn country better as well. So many people have suffered through too many wars. We need ways of making their lives better. From what I’ve seen of your city so far, you appear to have the advancements we need.”

 

His lips quirked up in a half smile. “Then it seems, Daenerys, we are of one mind about our future discussions.”

 

Once the food was cleared away, so were the tables, leaving the royals open to enjoy the celebration. King T’Challa stood and everyone grew silent. “My dear people, tonight we show the king and queen of Westeros the rich culture of our people. Let them take with them the beauty of our traditions and our people,” he declared, taking up his seat once more. The lights along the ceiling began to die down, men and women standing near the top of the pillars sprinkling some sort of dust into the brazier to dim the fire, and Daenerys turned her attention back to the group with awe as the colorful braziers being held by each group grew brighter.

 

Along the perimeter of the room, drums began beating, their rhythmic pounding seeming to pulse through the people in front of them. Through the stones on the floor, red fire flowed through the grout, illuminating the room with red light. Two men flipped along the stone in front of them. The grunt of the red tribe could be heard over the beating of the drums, but only seemed to accentuate the sound. 

 

But then the light changed to a purple and two men stepped forward, fell to their knees. They brought the purple braziers in their hands to their mouths and spit flame into the air. Three more followed in succession. Daenerys glanced down the line to see Rhaella and Aemon leaning forward in their seats. Then yellow flame circled the area and six women moved forward, spinning in rapid circles, all done on their toes. They then started to sway like wheat in the wind, arms long and graceful over their heads before spinning from the center of the room. Blue flame sent more acrobats, what looked to be a father and daughter duo. He held her above his head, balanced on one arm as she practically bowed her body in half. Daenerys felt immeasurable relief when the girl was safely on the ground and fought the urge to clap. 

 

The last was the green tribe. A group of women, dressed much like Nakia and Desta entered the floor. Movement from her right caught Daenerys’s eye, and she watched as Desta leaped over the flame and was handed two hollowed out circles of ivory. The drumbeat changed as she took front and center, those behind her copying her movements, which were graceful and reminded her of the way the water moved; one moment, tranquil and languid, the next firm jabs of her arms and distinctive snaps of her hips. Nakia leaned over to Daenerys. “This is my tribe,” she said proudly. 

 

As the young girl led the dance, she noticed that Aemon was leaning forward in his seat, his left arm propped on his knee, his mouth hanging open. Jon obviously noticed too, and turned to give her a smirk.  _ My dear sweet boy is completely enamored _ . 

 

When she finished, she came back to the group, took Shuri’s hand, then Aemon’s and pulled them both to the middle of the room. All the tribes joined together at that point, and Daenerys laughed as Desta showed Aemon what to do, moving his arms and shaking his hips as they spun in a circle. She thought if the young princess had asked him to walk over hot coals he would be only too happy to remove his shoes. 

 

The drumming stopped and everyone at the high table stood and clapped, Tormund giving a great whoop of approval. The people scattered around the room, some continued to dance as the drums began thumping again. Daenerys watched as T’Challa stood and bid Jon to follow him to meet some of the leaders of the tribes as Nakia leaned toward her and filled their glasses with more wine. She watched as a drink was shoved into Jon’s hand and he drank it. Instead of the disgusted look she expected, he seemed pleased with whatever it was and downed the rest of it.

 

“Your son appears to be quite taken with my daughter,” Nakia said with a smile as she took a sip of her seemingly new favorite beverage.

 

Daenerys nodded and watched as Aemon leaned closer to whisper to Desta that caused her to laugh and his goofy grin widened even as he blushed. She chuckled to herself. “I’ve never seen that expression on his face.”

 

Aemon was not a guarded boy, by nature, unlike his stoic father, but he seemed even more free with himself than was usual for him. With that thought, she looked back at Jon to find him with a different cup in his hand, and he had the pommel of Longclaw in his hand and was showing it to T’Challa. She knew the loss of the sword given to him by Jeor Mormont was tremendous. She remembered all too well watching the blade shatter as it cut through the Night King. Jon still carried around the pommel as superstition and sentimentalism. 

 

“How is it that you came to meet your king?” Nakia asked her, breaking her from her spell.

 

She shook her head. “It seems like a lifetime ago. I had just sailed to Westeros and was told that I needed to summon the King in the North, Jon. My Hand, my most trusted advisor, Tyrion, knew Jon… he had traveled to the Wall with him. He agreed that we needed to meet.” She sipped her wine and it was filled again before she could ask. “Our families had a history, but not a good one. I remember when he walked into my throne room, I was stunned. I expected someone who looked more like Tormund,” she said, nodding to the Wildling who was now standing with Jon with a drink in each hand and a shit-eating grin on his ruddy face. 

 

“Relieved?” Nakia asked with a laugh.

 

She nodded and took a deep breath. “I told him to bend the knee, he refused, so we butted heads.”

 

Nakia nodded in understanding. “And someone decided that marriage was the best way for an alliance?”

 

Daenerys shook her head, chuckling. “No. Jon stayed on the island because he needed the ore we had there, and he was still trying to convince me that there was a more important threat.” At this, she looked at her husband who was avidly listening to a toothless chieftain spin a wild tale, T’Challa translating as he didn’t know the common tongue. Her heart fluttered just looking at him, her smile involuntary. Even after all this time, the graying hair at his temples, the lines and crow's feet around his eyes, new scars, she still found him as handsome as ever. “We fell in love with one another.”

 

She realized she was staring at Jon and turned back to her companion with a shy smile. Nakia gave her an understanding smile. “And that love endures.”

 

Daenerys gave her a slight nod then looked back at Shuri who was coaxing Arya, Aemon, and Rhaella into joining them in their dance. Rhaella was all too eager, Arya stepped away claiming another drink was needed, and Aemon stared after Desta as she was escorted away by some of her friends. It was during his distraction that Shuri took his hand and he joined in the dancing. Nakia couldn’t help but chuckle. 

 

Daenerys chuckled. “He’s doing a  _ poor _ job of hiding it, isn’t he?”

 

They watched Desta show Aemon how to move his arms to the dance, an easy smile on her face but then grew concerned. Nakia looked away and back to her, “What is he like, one mother to another?” 

 

“Aemon has never met a stranger. As sour as Jon can be, he is the opposite. He’s stubborn, intelligent...he will be a wonderful king of Westeros because he cares about the people. All lives matter to him.” She paused and examined her son-- his easy smile, his laughter as Shuri showed him the proper way to move his feet to the rapid drums. She remembered how he was born into the world as they marched on King’s Landing. Aemon had his been in his first battle before he was ever born. “He’s seen what war does to a country and its people and understands diplomacy better than I think Jon and I do at times.” She took a deep breath, trying to fight off the tears thinking of how her son seemed to go from a pink babe in her arms to a charismatic and handsome man in the blink of an eye. “When we were lacking hope, Aemon was our push to keep going.”

 

Dany studied Nakia as the woman considered her words. The woman was beautiful and there was wisdom in her dark eyes. Her daughter looked just like her, carried herself with the same regal quality. “I know about stubborn children,” Nakia nodded to the crowd and Dany turned her eyes to see Desta staring at Aemon, seemingly paying little mind to her knot of friends. “My daughter wants to be a healer. It takes the focus of everything in her life. We encourage it, of course, because anyone as kind as she is could do a lot of good in this world.” She looked over at Daenerys and smiled at her. “I’ve never seen anything pull her focus so quickly as your son, however.”

 

Daenerys smiled and held up her glass. “A toast to the future generation and their stubbornness. May it not test our patience to the very limit but serve the world well.”

 

Nakia touched her glass to Daenerys’s. “Well said.”

 

*~*

 

Missandei was helping to unravel Daenerys’s hair as she had found her own fingers most unhelpful. Jon had seen Aemon and Rhaella to bed after he’d made sure that a very drunk and disheveled Tormund was in his room. The last thing they needed was for the Wildling to cause an international incident while they slept. 

 

“That’s it, Your Grace. Would you like a bath in the morning? I can come in and do your hair after.”

 

She nodded. “I’ll probably need one to get rid of the headache I’m sure to have. I believe you might be the only person capable of taming my hair beneath the wrap.”

 

Missandei shared a laugh with her, then walked to the door just as Jon was coming in. “Good night, Your Grace,” she said before she closed the door behind her. 

 

Daenerys watched Jon pull the dashiki over his head and settle it on the trunk at the foot of their bed. He kicked off his boots and then his attention turned to her. His lips quirked up in a predatory half smile, then began walking to her. She took his offered hand and stood, letting him wrap her in his arms and his mouth found hers. She could feel him tugging on the fabric, obviously trying to figure out how to remove it. “Don’t you dare rip this,” she warned.

 

He began backing her toward the bed, his hands roaming over her body even as his lips moved along her throat. “Then take it off,” he demanded. She tugged it over her head and giggled as he tickled his fingers along her side. “I’ll admit I’m drunk,” he said as he sat down on the edge and pulled her on top of him. “You might have to do all the work.”

 

She laughed and leaned in to kiss his smiling mouth. Her breath caught as his mouth found her nipple and scraped his teeth lightly over it. “I’m drunk, too. All that wine,” she said as she ground down against the bulge pushing against his trousers. “And why didn’t you take off your pants?” She couldn’t help but grumble as his hands and mouth distracted her from getting to his cock. She felt a sense of triumph as the laces finally gave way and she could wrap her hand around his length. His response was to bite along her collarbone.

 

She pulled the tie from his hair with her free hand and held his mouth to her as she wiggled on top of him for a better position. She huffed in frustration. “You really are going to make me do all the work, aren’t you?”

 

He chuckled as he grabbed her arse with both hands and shifted her further into his lap. “I’m just here for the ride.”

 

When she took his cock in hand again, his chuckle turned into a groan. She wiggled around until she was positioned on top of him how she liked, then slid the tip of his cock through her folds, brushing against her clit, her own body shivering in response. He gripped her hips firmly as she seated him inside her, slowly lowering herself onto him. She watched the strain in the muscles of his neck as he pressed his head back into to bed. She loved nothing more than to see her usually stoic husband lose his usually well-kept composure.

 

She undulated her hips against his own, setting a slow pace, her body welcoming him as it always did. His hands moved languidly over her skin causing her heart to race within her chest.  Even after all these years, her husband still set her nerves alight . 

 

She braced her hands on his chest, picking up the pace, - tumbling faster and faster toward the edge. Jon cupped her breasts, his thumbs and fingers working to tweak her nipples that had her head dropping back and a low moan escaped her lips. 

 

She reached between them, her fingers working over her nub and her body bowed as her release screamed through her blood, curling her toes as her legs and arms shook to hold her up. She was barely cognizant of Jon finding his release not long after. He pulled her down against him, holding her close as they both caught their breath. She rested her head on his shoulder, tracing her fingers over the scars on his chest, drunk on wine and the euphoria that came from being in her husband’s arms.

 

She would relish in it for a while longer, she decided, reluctant to move away or let him go. “Dany?” Jon whispered against her hair. The nickname had long ago lost the vile rancor that it once held. When he whispered it like he did, she could almost forget anyone else had ever called her by that name but him.

 

“Yes?” she replied.

 

“Are you nervous about tomorrow?”

 

She sighed and nodded. “It would be a lie to say no… but they seem to be reasonable people,” she said as she finally moved off him to lay at Jon’s side. He rid himself completely of his trousers and pulled the light silk sheet up around them. “Get some sleep, my love. It is sure to be a long day.”

 

He rolled to his side and draped an arm over her waist as she pressed her face against his neck. She could breathe in his scent forever-- snow, leather, and fire or smoke. She brushed her fingers over his jaw, smiling at how he seemed to already be asleep. She closed her eyes and let sleep take her.

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter was written by me, the next will be written by ash, with lots of brainstorming and collaboration in between. A big thanks to her, because this idea would have probably only the status of 'passing fancy' on my own. 
> 
> Another hearty thanks to the Tarts for being the supportive, amazing angels they are-- especially to the lovely Justwanderingneverlost for that fantastic mood board! :)
> 
> Let us know what you think!


End file.
